


Give Them Hope

by Ajisai



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Redemption, What-If, possibility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 18:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9285590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajisai/pseuds/Ajisai
Summary: A Star Wars AU: What if Obi-Wan hadn’t left Anakin to die on Mustafar, thereby stopping Anakin from becoming Darth Vader?  What if Padme hadn’t died in childbirth?  What if Order 66 hadn’t been executed and the Jedi were cleaning up the mess left behind by Palpatine’s plans?  Six months after that fateful encounter, Obi-Wan is trying to pick up the pieces, but hope is an elusive creature.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nea/gifts).



> Happy Fandom_Stocking 2016, Nea! :)

Obi-Wan felt the last vestiges of meditation receding and opened his eyes. The rebuilt Jedi temple was quiet this morning, but there were still the familiar sounds that brought him back to reality: a few younglings running down the corridor outside to classes, the soft hum of ships landing and taking off on far away pads. He stood up slowly, stretching, feeling the gentle push and pull of the Force around him. The morning meditation had gone smoothly, more smoothly, in fact, than any in recent days. That was something good.

There was a soft knock at his door.

“One moment.” He cast around and pulled his boots on. It was winter on Coruscant, which meant there was a low chill everywhere in the temple; no snow, but enough cold weather to shield the sun and turn the weather unpleasant. The stone floor was cold to the touch, and he was grateful he wasn’t training outside this morning.

“Good morning, Master Kenobi,” said a familiar voice as he opened the door. It belonged to C42-X, a gleaming silver protocol droid who’d been assisting in the Temple for over a year now in the reconstruction efforts. It regarded him with half-lit, yellow eyes and expectant curiosity. “Do you require any assistance this morning? A meal? The news of the Senate’s doings so far?”

“I’ve already eaten, thank you. Has Master Windu returned from his journey to Jakku yet?”

“Not to my knowledge, but permit me to check.” C42 held up one finger as it cocked its head. “Ah. He is scheduled to return sometime today, but his ship has not arrived yet. Will you be deviating from your plans?”

Obi-Wan smiled. “You say that as if you’re assuming I’ll deviate.”

“History, as well as recent events, has proven my word choice to be correct.”

“In that case, I shall refrain from making trouble, at least for today. I need to visit Master Skywalker, though.”

“I had already planned that. Do you need me to accompany you?”

“Perhaps. I’d like to check in on our plans for the ceremonies at the Senate next week.”

C42-X quickly began to list the group of clone soldiers who’d been cleared for guard duty at the Senate, and for a while, Obi-Wan listened diligently. They walked towards the medical facilities, past the Temple library, past small gatherings of Jedi and Padawans, and down the stairs of the main entrance. The planet stretched out in front of them, skyscraper next to building upon building upon bridges over markets, shops, roads, and warehouses, with more skyscrapers and buildings as far as the eye could see. The conflict with the separatists was almost over, and the signs of economic boom were everywhere as families reunited and new technologies were brought home. Coruscant was more prosperous than ever before, its citizens seemingly oblivious to the level of corruption that had been discovered in their government.

“—Sir?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I was light years away. Please continue.”

“I was reviewing your schedule, including your visit with Queen Breha Organa later on. There’s more to review, but we must do that later, Master Kenobi. We have arrived at your original destination.”

The imposing door of the medical wing stood before them. Obi-Wan nodded. “Thank you, C42. We can continue this discussion later. I must check on Master Skywalker for now.”

“Of course. But may I ask you a question?”

“By all means.”

If C42 was pleased or eager at the prospect of an answer, there was no sign. “Why do you call him ‘Master’ Skywalker? None of the other Jedi do.”

For a moment, his blood ran cold at the thought of the events that had lead him to the door. He remembered Anakin, young, impossibly young, and angry at his mother’s death; Anakin, so talented at so much. The promise of a prophecy fulfilled and the responsibility that came with that had hung over so much of their time together, but Obi-Wan had tried to ignore it as much as possible and give his young student some semblance of a real life. Sighing, he thought of Anakin, bending, twisting, skirting, and just plain ignoring the rules to get whatever he wanted; Anakin and Padme, secretly married; the little mistakes and slips of memory that led to the gap, so many of them, really, that he’d had failed to teach his student; Anakin, giving in to the Dark Side and—

“It’s a long story,” he said, in an effort to stop the flood of memories.

**~~~~~~**

“There’s no real change today.” Dr. Sh’dat spoke before he had time to form a question. “He is much the same as ever, I’m afraid.”

“Did Master Yoda have any luck reaching him in meditation this time?”

Dr. Sh’dat shook her head, her six dark eyes blinking. “You should probably discuss that with him yourself, but I was led to think he was unsuccessful. There was no change in Skywalker’s condition afterwards. It is still my belief that this is not a physical sickness, but a spiritual one, and we have little experience diagnosing or curing that.”

“That is unfortunately true.”

The doctor stepped to one side, motioning towards the bed on the other side of the instruments and monitors. “You should keep talking to him. His readings always improve somewhat after you spend time here. It’s brief, but it’s a sign that he’s still inside somewhere. You shouldn’t give up hope just yet. I’ll give you some peace and make my rounds.”

She left the room, and he was alone with Anakin’s mostly still form. The darkened room was largely silent and the walls completely bare. He knew that hospital rooms were usually full of people and gifts, reminders of the reasons why sick people should recover, who they were when they were well. In sharp contrast to this, the only sign of the person Anakin had been before was the jeweled hair comb that Padme had given Obi-Wan when he’d returned from Mustafar. She’d been in exhausted tears then, too tired from giving birth to really process the information, and she’d pressed the comb into his hand, whispering to him to leave it with Anakin, that he shouldn’t alone. She’d flinched in pain, then, and Obi-Wan had instantly known that something was wrong, and mutely accepted the gift solely to reassure her.

She’d never brought the babies to see their father, and Obi-Wan supposed that he couldn’t really blame her, after everything that had happened.

Physically, Anakin was much the worse for wear. The Dark Side had caught up with him, leaving his face prematurely drawn and ragged, and his body was occasionally wracked with coughing spasms that left him curled into a fetal position underneath the thin sheet. This morning, his hands clenched in fists and he was wincing in his sleep, as if he were in a particularly frightening dream.

He looked nothing like the man Obi-Wan had once known and counted as a student, a comrade, a family member.

“Hello there, my friend.” He stepped closer, unsure of what the Doctor had said. His presence and words appeared to make no difference as Anakin shuddered, coughed, and then subsided. “Many things have happened since you’ve been asleep. I wish you’d wake up so that we could talk about them. And about what happened before. And so many other matters.”

There was no answer but silence. Obi-Wan sighed, thinking of the answer he’d wanted to give C42, but he’d been unable to say aloud: I call him ‘Master Skywalker’ because I once saw the potential for that in him, and I think I’m the only one who remembers it now.

**~~~~~**

“Queen Breha Organa.” Obi-Wan knelt.

“Master Kenobi,” Breha smiled. “Get up, get up. I’m not Queen of anything, anymore, in any real sense.”

“Old habits, your highness, old habits.”

“I understand,” she replied, nodding graciously. “But now is not the time to stand on ceremony. You must come and see the children.”

He followed her into another room, one that was nowhere near as formal as the one she’d received him in. This one was light and airy, decorated in soft colors. Two cribs and two nursemaids, he noted. It appeared the Queen had spared no expense.

“Padme’s room is on the other side,” Breha noted as the nursemaids acknowledged their entrance. “That way, she can easily see the babies, but recover as well.”

“Is she well enough to—“

“Not today.” The Queen’s voice held a warning, and he decided to abandon that line of questions. One of the nursemaids whispered something to her, and Breha nodded as she continued speaking to him. “Luke and Leia. I’d say they look a lot like their mother, but I’m a little biased.” Her affection was evident as she leaned over to tuck in a stray corner of a blanket. “Ah, she’s awake.” 

The baby yawned and stretched and Breha gently picked her up, rocking her slowly. “Someone’s come to visit you, little one, a special friend. Obi-Wan, do you want to hold her?”

Impossibly light and small, the baby seemed like an unreal creature. She reached out with a tiny hand and grabbed one of his fingers, regarding him with serious, wide eyes. “She’s utterly charming.”

“Others have commented on the same thing. She’s already the little diplomat, just like her mother.”

“We’re going to need diplomats like her. There’s so much to rebuild.”

Breha cleared her throat. “That must be a daunting prospect.”

A rare wave of exhaustion swept over him and he took a small step backwards to sit down on one of the soft chairs that were lined up around the edge of the room. The child in his arms didn’t let go, her gaze still fixed on him. “There was so much that was broken,” he said after a long second of contemplation.

“Many things,” Breha agreed. “Many people were broken, too.”

“Yes. ‘Broken’ is an understatement in some cases.”

“Even if that’s so, these people will mend. Everything will. There’s still hope.”

“You still believe that?” he said. “You still believe that, after everything that’s happened?”

She stared down at him, and at the baby. “Do you?”

He made eye contact with the tiny girl in his arms, and she smiled, a crooked twisting of her lip that reminded him of the man he’d once known. “I want to believe it,” he answered after a long second of contemplation.

“Then that’s enough.” Breha stretched out her arms.

He started to hand the baby back to her, but she didn’t let go of his hand. _That small, tenacious grip_ , he thought. _Just like her father._

_Maybe there is hope for us—him after all._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Leah for beta reading.
> 
> I took the title from Harvey Milk's famous quote. I think he wouldn't mind. :)
> 
> I'm very tempted to continue with this, although I think that's gonna depend on how work goes this spring... *crosses fingers*


End file.
